


Under His Wing

by AgentNerd



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Deaf Clint Barton, Drunk Cooper, Drunk Peter, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Iowa, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clint Barton, Sensory Overload, Underage Drinking, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentNerd/pseuds/AgentNerd
Summary: “Iowa?  No way!” Peter protested. "I can’t go to Iowa!”Tony waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, “Sure you can.  It’ll be great.  Just like all those Lifetime movies where the city girl goes to the country, makes new friends, learns life lessons…"Peter needs to take a break.  Clint Barton has a farm.  They may have more to offer each other than they realize.





	1. Summer Camp

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a Peter-meets-Hawkeye fic no one asked for. I adore Peter, and I adore Clint Barton, so somehow this just made sense. I have a bit more of this written, but it's certainly not complete at this point, so don't expect regular updates. But, yeah. Throwing this out there to see if there's interest. Hope you like it!

Peter woke up to bright lights, an incessantly beeping heart monitor, and Tony Stark hovering over him.  The man looked frustrated, concerned, and very, _very_ tired.

So, Avengers infirmary then.  Peter shifted on the bed, not quite knowing what was going on in Tony’s head, but innately sensing that the was about to nagged at.  “Uh, hi, Mr. Stark…”

“Hi?  _Hi?_ ” Tony raked a hand over his face, voice going up an octave with emphasis. “You go out and almost get yourself killed, and the first thing you say is _hi?_ ”

Peter swallowed hard.  He had vague memories of the fight that landed him here, but most of it was a painful blur. “Well, I feel a lot better now, so…”

Tony scoffed.  “That’s because you’re drugged up to high heaven on pain meds.  You’re recovering from a concussion, a gunshot wound to the side, _and_ a fracture to your femur.  Your _femur_.  You’re good in biology, I know you know that’s the strongest bone in your body, and you _fractured_ it.  Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?  I swear, I’m starting to go grey because of you.”

Peter was about to make a joke about that last comment, but the serious expression on his mentor’s face made him decide against it.  “I was having a bad day,” he argued instead, “I heal quickly, it really won’t happen again…”

“I saw footage of the fight, kid.  You’re getting sloppy.”

“I’m not…” he started to defend, but was cut off immediately.

“May says you haven’t been getting a lot of sleep recently,” Tony cut him off, prodding, “and don’t even try to blame it on homework this time, I _know_ you’re on summer vacation.”

Well, darn.  There was that excuse out the window.  But, hold on, “Where is May?”

“At work.  Don’t try to distract me, it’s not going to work.”

“C’mon Mr. Stark,” he tried to argue, “I’ve got, like, mutant spider DNA in me.  I don’t need as much sleep as a normal person.”

Tony gave him a pointed look.  “Yeah, you do.  I’ve also been told that you haven’t talked to your friends in weeks.”

“Do you and May talk about everything now?” Peter asked, exasperated. _God_ he’d never be able to keep a secret _ever again_.

“It’s called co-parenting.  Get with the times, kid,” Tony quipped.  Peter groaned.

“We still text,” he said,  “…sometimes.  Everyone is busy, and—”

Tony crossed his arms.  “No.  Not that busy.  You’re overloading yourself and suffering because of it.  You know, most kids try to relax during summer vacation?  They don’t work themselves to exhaustion.”

“Well, I’m not ‘most kids’.  I have all this free time now, and I have a _responsibility_ …”

“You have a responsibility to your health, first and foremost.  You don’t take care of yourself, you can get hurt, and you can get others hurt.  Which I’m pretty sure is the exact opposite of what you’re trying to do.”

“Okay, fine!” Peter said, trying to throw his arms in the air but stopping when it pulled at the stitches in his side.”  I’ll go to bed earlier, you can, like, shorten my curfew or something, I’ll send a few texts to Ned.  Is that what you want?”

“Where is all this sass coming from?” Tony asked in exasperation. “Where did my polite, nice kid go?  But to answer your question, no.  Your aunt and I have been talking…”

“Hold on, I think my worst nightmare has just been verbalized.”

“…and we both think that you need to focus on being a kid for a while.”

“What does that mean?” Peter asked, voice gaining an edge of panic.  Was he going to take away the suit again? 

“Woah there, don’t get your Underoos in a bunch,” Tony calmed, as if he could read Peter’s mind. “We’re sending you to summer camp.”

Peter looked at him incredulously, “Summer camp?”

“Yeah.  Well, sort of.  There’s lots of dirt and plants there, and stuff.  And it’s summer.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tony sighed, “Basically, a friend of mine owes me a favor, so you’re spending the next six weeks in Iowa.”

“Iowa?  No way!” Peter said, ignoring the jolt of pain in his body as he tried to rise from the bed in protest.  “Somewhere in New York, like sure, maybe; but I can’t go to Iowa!”

Tony gently pushed Peter back down and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, “Sure you can.  It’ll be great.  Just like all those Lifetime movies where the city girl goes to the country, makes new friends, learns life lessons…”

“Is this some kind of joke to you?”

Tony’s face suddenly turned serious.  “Not in the least.  Your health is important.  This’ll be just the kind of break you need.”

“Mr. Stark, you can’t make me go to Iowa!” Peter whined.

“See, that’s the great thing about you being a kid and me being an adult: I absolutely can.  And May’s thrilled with the idea, so.  Get ready, Pete, you leave in a week.”

Peter groaned, head falling back to his pillow in defeat.

* * *

 

A week later, he found himself in a rented SUV with Tony as they drove through the middle-of-nowhere Iowa countryside.  Some awful country station was playing on the radio, insisted by Tony with a mischievous smile to get Peter “in the spirit of things”, and the twangy songs about girls, boots, and tractors combined with the crunch and crackle of gravel being spit back underneath the car’s tires as they navigated narrow backroads.  Peter’s head rested on his arm as he looked out the passenger window, staring at cornfields.  Endless cornfields.  He had seen nothing but cornfields for the past hour.

“Ah, here we are,” Tony said as the scenery started to shift into slightly more open land.  He turned down a long, dirt driveway dotted with trees, stopping in front of a big white farmhouse.

Tony got out first, pulling out a set of crutches from the backseat.  Peter opened his door and Tony helped him to the ground, his mobility still being a little awkward from the cast around his leg.  He was handed the crutches, then Tony grabbed his duffle bag, and the two made their way toward the house.  Navigating the few steps up to the front door was a little tricky, but Peter managed fine enough.

“Well, kid, have a good time.  Stay out of trouble and all that,” Tony said, setting the bag down next to Peter on the porch.

“Wait, you’re not staying?” Peter asked as Tony made his way down the steps.  The man paused for a moment, a sheepish look coming over his face.

“Ah, no.  This friend…he’s happy to have you here—absolutely thrilled, don’t get me wrong—but the last time we saw each other…it would be awkward.  Better if I didn’t." 

With that, Tony ducked into his car and drove away, and Peter was left crippled on the doorstep of a stranger with whom Tony was apparently on “awkward” terms.  With no other options left, he reached out and rang the bell.

A clatter of footsteps was heard, and a moment later the door opened.  Peter’s mouth dropped open in shock at the man standing on the threshold.

“Hawkeye?”


	2. The Grand Tour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a tour of the house and gets to know the Bartons a bit better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what guys? I’m so committed to this fic, I moved to Iowa just to make sure I got it as accurate as possible!
> 
> Jk, but I actually did just move to Iowa because I’m spending the next couple months here working a summer job. I didn’t have internet for like a week when I first moved here, so I’ve been trying to get some writing done instead. I’m so glad so many of you are interested in this fic, I hope you enjoy!

“Hawkeye?” Peter said, flabbergasted.  Tony had forgotten to mention that the friend that owed him a favor was an _Avenger_.  More than that, an Avenger that Peter had fought against in Berlin.

“Clint Barton,” he insisted, holding out his hand for Peter to shake.  Peter fumbled with his crutches to reciprocate.  “We’re both off-duty.”

“And I’m Laura,” said a woman who Peter in his shock only just now noticed was standing just behind him.  Her smile was warm and genuine. “Why don’t you come on in?  It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Peter scrambled with his crutches for a moment as he tried to pick up the duffle bag, but in one quick motion Clint leaned over and picked it up for him.

“That’s Lila,” Clint said as they stepped inside, pointing to a young girl whose face sneakily peeked out between banister rails as they walked in.  At being found out, she quickly drew back and rushed up the stairs.  Clint laughed, “She’s the middle child.  We also have baby Nate and our oldest, Cooper, who’s thirteen.  How old are you Peter?” 

“Uh, fifteen,” Peter blurted out, slightly overwhelmed at the idea that he was in _Hawkeye’s_ house, on his farm, meeting his wife and kids.  There were macaroni pictures on the walls.  _Macaroni_.  It was the very picture of domesticity—and the very last thing Peter would have ever associated with Hawkeye.

“I think you and Coop will get along just fine.  Once you get that cast off, you’ll be sharing a room with him,” Clint said, “But until then, we’re putting you on the couch.  Sound good?”

“Yeah!  Yeah, totally, of course.”

“Great,” they continued through the house.  Peter marveled at the sheer country charm of it all as Clint pointed out different rooms.  “Over that way is the parlor, and back here is the kitchen.  That door to the left is the bathroom, and that one leads to the basement.”

“Peter, have you had lunch yet?” Laura asked as they paused in the kitchen for a moment.

His stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly.  It _had_ been a long trip to Iowa.  “Uh, no ma’am.”

She smiled, “Well how about I fix you something while Clint finishes up the tour?  It’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

“That sounds great, thank you, Mrs. Barton.”

“It’s no problem at all, sweetheart.”

“Could I have some food too, dear?” Clint asked sweetly, batting his eyes at his wife.

Without turning around from the cupboard she had started rummaging through, Laura shot back in an equally saccharine voice, “Only if you make it yourself, darling!”

Clint grinned. “We don’t have too much more to go, Peter.  If you’ll just follow me this way, I’ll show you the office.”

He led Peter through the kitchen into the next room.  Bright sunlight filtered through gauzy-curtained windows along the back wall.  In the middle of the room was a desk with a computer, and tall bookshelves flanked the walls on either side.  A couple of comfortable looking armchairs sat next to each other in the corner of the room.  Clint gestured to these after closing the door behind Peter, “Have a seat.”

As he settled himself into one of the armchairs, Peter couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous, like he’d done something wrong.  This was obviously the setup for some sort of Talk, which in Peter’s experience wasn’t usually a great thing.  The Avenger set Peter’s duffle bag down on the floor and then took the seat across from him.  Peter started running his mouth immediately. 

“Look, I’m really sorry about the whole Germany thing.  I kind of got really excited, y’know?  I hadn’t been doing this for too long, and when Mr. Stark showed up I was like, _woah_ , but if I had known—”

Clint barked out a laugh, stopping Peter in his verbal tracks. “Don’t worry about it, kid.  That was a…fun little scrap, but it’s in the past.  That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Uh…so what did you want to talk about, sir?” Peter asked.

Clint wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Oh geez, and none of that “sir” stuff either, okay?  Or Mr. Barton, for that matter—I’ve heard how you are with Stark.  It’s just Clint.”

Peter nodded his head in understanding. 

Clint leaned back casually in his chair, meeting Peter’s eyes, “So, you know why you’re here?”

Peter frowned.  “Because Mr. Stark thinks I can’t take care of myself.”

“Wrong,” Clint answered, “Though to be fair, you _are_ currently on crutches and walk slower than my baby can crawl.  But anyway, you’re here because Stark thinks you’re overworking yourself and need a break.  And from what I’ve seen, he’s right.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Peter pointed out.

“I don’t.  But he sure cares an awful damn lot about you, kid; I can tell that much, and I respect it.” 

A warmth spread through Peter’s chest.  Hearing that Mr. Stark cared about him from someone who didn’t even like the man felt a whole lot different from hoping it was true.  He tried to tamp down the feelings though—he was still miffed at Tony for sending him away to Iowa.

“I think this place is about as much of a break as you can get from New York City,” Clint continued, “and I hope you’ll like it here.  Besides me, only my wife knows that you’re Spider-Man—I made a promise a long time ago to not keep secrets from her.  I trust her with my life, and you can trust her with yours.”  Peter guessed that was fair.  “My kids don’t know, and I’m leaving it to you on whether or not you want to tell them.  They know what I do, even if they don’t know all the details.  I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything here, alright?”

Peter nodded again.  He decided he would keep it quiet for now, but he appreciated the consideration. 

Clint leaned forward, a serious expression suddenly coming over his formerly relaxed face, “Now, one last thing, and I want you to be honest with me: did you bring the suit here?”

“Oh, uh, yes si—Clint,” Peter responded, eyes shooting to his duffle bag.  Honestly, he was kind of surprised that neither May nor Mr. Stark had stopped him from packing it.  They hadn’t even said anything about it.  He was now starting to wonder if they had just been leaving that battle for Clint to handle.

“Okay, well, I’m going to have to ask you to give it to me.  I don’t allow weapons to sit unguarded around my kids, and while I know that’s not what the suit is, it could still be dangerous.  Besides, you’re here to take a break from Spider-Man, and you can’t wear it right now anyway.  I’ll lock it up and keep it safe, and we can discuss later if you want to take it out from time to time to practice with it.”

Clint had used the word ‘ask’, but there wasn’t really much of a question in his tone.  There was no excuse to not give the suit to him, really.  It was true, he couldn’t really use it right now, and when his leg healed, what could he do with it then?  The nearest town was at least five miles away, and what could he swing from, cornstalks?  If Tony trusted Clint with Peter, then Peter could trust him with the suit, even if the thought of being separated from it made him kind of anxious.  He leaned forward and opened up the duffle bag.  The suit was packed under a couple layers of clothes, but he dug through it quickly and handed it over to the man.

“Thanks, Peter,” Clint said.  He stood up and tucked the suit under his arm, then reached out a hand to help Peter stand as well.  “How about we find out if Laura’s done with your lunch?”

The two of them made their way back out into the kitchen where Laura had a big plate of sandwiches sitting on the dining table.

“I know how much teenage boys can eat,” she joked as Peter laid eyes on it.  “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?  I should have asked before.”

“No, ma’am.  Thank you!” he said, putting his crutches aside once more as he sat down to eat.  One of the sandwiches disappeared from the plate in a flash, and Peter looked up to see Clint had snagged it.  He stuck his tongue out at his wife.  She stuck her tongue out right back.  Peter couldn’t help but grin through his mouthful of bread and lunch meat.

“I’m gonna go put this downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Peter’s suit.  “Basement is off-limits to all kids, by the way.  Too much dangerous stuff down there.” He then stuffed the sandwich in his mouth before disappearing around the corner, and Laura slid into the seat across from Peter, nursing a mug of tea.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, a warm smile on her face.

Peter waited until he swallowed the food in his mouth before answering, “You have a beautiful house, ma’am.  Thank you for letting me stay here.”  May had drilled manners into him from a young age, and they were coming out full force.

“What a polite young man,” she commented, “but we’re glad to have you.  Any family of Clint’s is always welcome.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” she insisted, not allowing him to finish protesting, “You all are.  Even Tony Stark, though Clint refuses to think it.  The gifts you have, they bring people together, form bonds in a very special way.  You’ve got a lot of people looking out for you.”

“Yeah,” Peter thought of Tony, of Happy, of all of the Avengers he’d fought beside and of the one he’d fought against who _still_ opened his home to him, “I guess I do.”

Suddenly, a baby’s cry could be heard coming from upstairs.  Laura stood up from the table.  “Well, sounds like someone’s woken up from his nap.  That’s my cue, but Peter, if you ever have any questions about anything, don’t hesitate to ask, okay sweetie?”

Peter nodded. “Thank you,” he said

 She squeezed his shoulder in acknowledgment as she passed by, “Welcome to the farm.”


	3. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets Cooper and starts to settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally home from Iowa! I got a really fantastic grasp on what the state is like, but I also was working 11-15 hour days there, hence the gap between updates. Sorry for the wait!
> 
> I struggled a bit writing this chapter, and it's slightly shorter than average, but I think it says exactly what it needs to say. I'm very excited about everyone's enthusiasm for this fic, and I hope you enjoy!

Not long after Peter had finished his sandwiches and washed the plate they were on, Laura reappeared back downstairs with baby Nathanial who, by the loud cooing sounds he was making, was also ready for a late lunch.  While she set him up with a bowl full of finger-food, Peter covertly played peek-a-boo with the baby behind her back.  Nathaniel giggled as Peter whipped his hands away from his face and stuck out his tongue, then stopped suddenly when he heard footsteps approaching.  He wasn’t fast enough, though, if the smirk appearing on Clint’s face was anything to go by.

“You ever babysit before?” he asked.

“Yeah, a couple of times for Mrs. Lopez—she’s our downstairs neighbor.  She’s got a daughter, Sofia.  She’s five.  We have tea parties together,” he rambled, blushing as soon as he realized he was oversharing again.  He couldn’t help it.  He talked when he was nervous.

“That sounds wonderful,” Laura said warmly.

“I like kids,” Peter shrugged, “They’re not complicated.”

“Yeah, that’s what teenagers are for,” Clint joked, but there was an appraising look in his eye as he met Peter’s gaze.  Peter wasn’t sure what it meant, but he desperately hoped he held up to whatever standards the man was pitting him against.

Peter cocked his head to the side suddenly, hearing the key rotate in the lock a second before everyone else heard the front door open.  “Coop?  That you?” Clint called, looking over his shoulder toward the entryway.

“Yeah!” Came a voice.

“Come to the kitchen, meet our new guest!”

A few seconds later, a young teenage boy shuffled into the kitchen, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“How was your sleepover with Max, sweetie?” Laura asked, taking Nate’s bowl away as he tried to fling it to the floor.

“Good.  Fun.  I can’t believe they get to spend the rest of their summer in _Hawaii_ visiting their dad!” he groaned, shrugging off Clint’s arm as he tried to rest it on top of his head.

“If only we could all be so lucky,” Clint sympathized.  “But Cooper, I’d like you to meet Peter, he’s the one I told you will be staying with us for a while.  Peter, this is Cooper.”

“Hey,” Peter said with a small wave.

“Hey,” Cooper replied.

An awkward silence for a moment.  But that summed up a lot of Peter’s regular peer interactions, so he was kind of used to it. 

“So, uh, what happened to your leg?” Cooper asked, nodding toward the offending appendage, finally breaking the silence.

“I got into a fight,” he admitted, refusing to go into any further detail.  A blush rose to his cheeks as he thought about how badly it had gone.

“Cool,” Cooper said, enthusiasm edging into his voice.  Clint’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“No, not cool.  That’s definitely not a cool thing you want to emulate.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a win,” Peter supplied.

“Still, though.  The most exciting thing that’s happened around here is the one time Robert and Arnold got in a fight over Linda…and those are _literal_ cows,” he emphasized. 

Peter cracked a smile.  “Well, I’ve never met a cow before.”

Cooper’s mouth gaped open, “You haven’t?”

“Nope.  Tried to go to a petting zoo when I was six once, but the goats freaked me out too much so we left.”

Cooper laughed.  “We don’t have any cows here, but our neighbors down the road have a dairy farm.  We could probably stop by sometime.  No goats, I promise.”

“Sounds great.  Another thing to cross off the bucket list.”

Cooper paused, then decided to change topics.  “Do you like video games?”

“My friend Ned will tell you I suck at them, but yeah,” Peter responded with enthusiasm.  He made a mental note at that moment: text Ned about all this ASAP.  He was going to _freak_.

“We’ve got Mario Kart and some other stuff in the living room.  If you’re interested.”

“Dude, yeah!  I love Mario Kart!”

As Peter fumbled for his crutches and followed Cooper out of the kitchen, he missed the fond smiles Laura and Clint were directing his way.

“I like him,” Laura said.

“He’s definitely charming.  Could tell that much way back in Germany.  Surprised such a good kid looks up to Stark so much.”

Laura raised an eyebrow.  “Are you?  An equally charming, intelligent man who is driven by the need to help people?  Is it really that surprising?”

“You flatter him too much.”

“No, I just try not to hold grudges.  Tony is far from being a perfect man, but if he truly cares that much about this boy?” she stood up from the table to stand at Clint’s side, and they both glanced into the living room where Peter and Cooper had settled on the couch. “Then I think there’s another side to Tony Stark that we never knew about.  A very good side.”

Clint gave a noncommittal hum as he wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders, watching as the boys argued over who got to play as Waluigi.  He tried not to think about the fact that Laura was almost always right.  His feelings about Tony were complicated, but as for Peter…

He seemed like a good kid.

Clint was looking forward to getting to know him better over the course of the summer.


	4. Farm Chores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets put to work and meets some chickens along the way.

“I wanted that!”

“I touched it first, it’s mine!”

 “But you’ve already had more pieces than me!”

“And _you’ve_ had three pancakes, you don’t need it!”

“Yuh-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

Fast as lightning, a hand darted out and grabbed the piece of bacon that Cooper and Lila had been fighting over, and Clint stuffed it in his mouth.  “Now,” he said in between chews, “It’s mine.”

Cooper and Lila groaned collectively over their loss.

Clint swallowed and gave the kids a chastising look.  “So, what was the problem?”

“We both wanted the last piece of bacon,” Cooper droned immediately, as if he had been expecting the question.  Peter glanced up at the exchange between bites of his own pancakes, watching with interest.

“And how could that have gone better?”

“We could've split it,” Lila suggested, looking slightly more shamefaced than her brother. 

“Or?”

“We could have asked to make more?” Cooper threw out.

Clint nodded, “Good.  I also would’ve accepted having a sudden moral shift into becoming a vegetarian.  But then I’d also have to question if you were actually my kids.”

“Sorry for arguing,” Cooper mumbled, but the last comment had gotten a smile out of him.

Peter was intrigued.  He, of course, didn’t have any siblings, but he had witnessed many an argument between MJ and her brothers before.  The dynamic was pretty much the same, but the way Clint handled it was vastly different.  Whenever MJ fought with one of her brothers, her mom would usually just yell at them to knock it off, sometimes followed by threats of further punishment if things got too heated.  But the way Clint spoke reminded Peter very strongly of the official debriefs he attended after his rare group missions with Mr. Stark and the other Avengers.  There was a protocol followed: recap what happened, highlight what went wrong, and suggest how to fix it so future missions would go better.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he found out Clint was a parent, but this…this made sense.

“Hey kids, how about you introduce Peter to the chickens after breakfast?” Laura suggested as she scooped some scrambled eggs onto Nate’s plate.

 “Chickens?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, they’re out back!  You gotta meet ‘em!” Lila exclaimed, her disappointment over bacon entirely forgotten.  Peter had assumed she was shy, back when he had first arrived and she darted out of sight.  He realized that was definitely not the case a few hours later, though, after she had seemingly warmed up to him and wouldn’t stop talking.  She was a good kid, cheerful and bubbly—Peter liked her.

“Have you never seen those before either?” Cooper joked.

“I have!” Peter defended.  “Raising chickens is kind of starting to become a popular thing in New York.  My friend was even thinking about getting some,” and MJ would be a good chicken mom too, he was sure.

“Y’know, it might not be such a bad idea for you to help the kids out with their chores.  It’ll give you a real taste for our simple country life,” Clint said with a wave of his fork, instantly frowning as the syrupy piece of pancake speared on it fell into his lap.  He hastily reached for the napkins and started to scrub at his pants, and Laura sighed from her seat across the table.

“Honestly, this is why we can’t take you anywhere,” she complained, but there was a smile forming at her lips as she turned to Peter.  “What do you say?  I know you’re not super mobile right now, but the coop isn’t too far from the house, so it shouldn’t be too strenuous.”

“Sounds like fun,” Peter quickly agreed.  Already, he was getting antsy being stuck inside with his leg—fresh air would probably do him some good.

It didn’t take long after that for the three kids to finish their breakfast, and after rinsing off their dishes in the sink, they set off for the backyard.  Down a slight hill and off to the right was the barn that Peter had noticed when he first arrived.  It was smaller than most of the other barns they had passed by on their trip through the Iowa countryside, but it had the same faded, peeling, rusty red paint job and large double doors characteristic of all the rest.  What he hadn’t noticed, though, was the much smaller though similarly weathered wooden structure to the left, sitting much closer to the house.  It had an attached wire cage complete with an awning, and inside roamed half a dozen chickens.  Just beyond the coop sat a modestly sized garden, consisting of a planked wood border about a foot tall, holding in dark earth and filled with sprouting green plants.

“C’mon, come meet the chickens!” Lila exclaimed, and he was sure that if he didn’t have crutches, she would have been pulling him along by the hand, she was so eager to show him.  He kept up well enough, though, and as soon as they approached the coop, the young girl started pointing out each occupant in turn.

“Peter, meet Wanda, Natasha, Jane Maria, Peggy, and Tony.”

Peter laughed out loud at the last one, a particularly sassy looking hen sitting off in the corner, away from the others. 

“Dad insisted on that one,” Cooper said with a grin.

“So,” Peter said, “What do we have to do?” 

“Every day we give them fresh food and water,” Lila answered, already starting to unlatch the gate to the cage so she could access the respective bowls inside.  As soon as she stepped in, the chickens immediately flocked around her feet, and she giggled and nudged them away gently before continuing on with her work.

“And we also collect the eggs,” Cooper finished, holding up the basket he’d grabbed from the kitchen before they left.  “Wanna help?  You won’t have to kneel down or anything.”

“Yeah!” Peter responded enthusiastically.  They walked around to the side of the coop where a portion of the structure jutted out from the rest, topped with a small roof.  Cooper lifted the roof to reveal a row of nests, each with an egg inside.

“You just go ahead and grab them and put them in the basket,” he explained, reaching in and pulling out a light brown egg, holding it up for Peter to see before putting it away.  Peter leaned forward and copied him, and within a minute they had a basket full of fresh eggs.

“Lila, you done?” Cooper called out, and they rounded the corner just as she was locking up the cage once again.

“Yeah,” she answered, and she picked up a watering can sitting next to the coop, “And I filled this up too.”

He handed her the basket, “Cool.  Go put these in the fridge,” he told her, “Peter and I will get started on the garden.”  She stuck her tongue out at him for being ordered around but accepted the basket anyway.  He stuck his out right back.

“So do you guys have to pick the corn and stuff, too?” Peter asked as Lila ran toward the house, looking at green and gold stalks that surrounded them in rows that seemed to stretch for miles.

“Nah.  We own the land, but we rent it out to different farmers to grow crops on, so they take care of all that,” Cooper said.  “The most we’re in charge of are the chickens and the vegetable garden.” They approached the garden, and Cooper once again explained their task, “All we need to do here is weed it and water it.  I can do the weeding, you can water?”

“I think I can handle that,” Peter responded.

They worked in silence for a couple of minutes, Cooper crouched low to the ground and pulling weeds out of the dirt while Peter balanced on one crutch with one hand and watered plants with the other. 

Finally, Peter asked the question that had been on his mind since he arrived.

“So…what’s it like?  With your dad being an Avenger?”

Cooper paused for a moment, absently wiping the dirt on his hands onto his pants before shrugging.  “I dunno.  He’s my dad, you know?”

“Not really,” Peter admitted, a brief flash of pain squeezing through his chest.  “My dad died when I was really young.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he paused for a moment before continuing.  “I always assumed he was in the CIA when I was younger.  Or secret service.  He never told us what he did, and mom always just said he worked for the government and helped people.  And whenever he’d go away for a long time, I thought he was going on secret missions.  I wasn’t too far off, I guess.”

“When did he tell you?” Peter asked, shifting over slightly to reach the next tomato plant.

“He didn’t.  Not really.  The Battle of New York happened, and he was all over the news.  Mom tried to not let us see too much of it, but she couldn’t stop us completely.  Lila didn’t really get it at first, but I was able to put the pieces together.”

Peter had been twelve when the Battle of New York happened.  It had been scary at first, but once he, May, and Ben had evacuated to a family friend’s house in New Jersey, he had mostly been excited at seeing all his heroes fighting alongside each other, watching the news on mute while the adults talked in the kitchen for the off chance they would see him and make him turn it off.  He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if he had turned on the TV only to see May or Ben fighting giant aliens.

“That must have been scary.”

“Yeah,” Cooper shrugged again, “but then he came home.  Like he always came home.  He was quiet for a while after that.  I found out on the internet that he’d been mind-controlled by Loki before the battle, though he never talked about it.  He eventually got back to normal, though, and then he explained everything.”

“What do your friends think?”

“We live in a small community—like, you go into town, and besides the library and school and post office, you get a HyVee, a Theisen’s, and a McDonalds, and that’s it.  Everyone knows everyone  My dad was Clint Barton before, and as far as everyone’s concerned, he’s still Clint Barton now.  Nothing’s really changed, except maybe a few more bird jokes are told at his expense.  It’s not like he’s fighting aliens in Iowa, or anything.”

“Huh,” Peter said.  For as much as people said that New Yorkers liked to keep to themselves, they _did_ care about superheroes.  If any of the Avengers walked outside without making some attempt to disguise themselves, they would be flooded almost immediately with people asking for autographs or selfies.  Or if Peter’s identity was suddenly exposed, it would _matter_.  But not here.  Maybe small-town life was just that different.

“Looks like you’re done with the water.  And I just finished, too,” Cooper commented, and Peter looked down to notice that the watering can was indeed no longer doing its job.  “Let’s go inside.  It’s starting to get hot out here anyway.”

Peter set down the watering can and readjusted his crutches before following Cooper toward the house, mind racing with everything he’d learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Just so everyone's aware, school is starting soon for me, so updates will probably be even more few and far between. Sorry about that.
> 
> My grandparents' neighbors owned chickens, and once when they went on vacation, we got to take care of the chickens while they were gone. I was pretty little so I don't remember it very well, but I remember collecting the eggs. Chickens are cool.


	5. Bunk Beds and Chamomile Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are revealed. Some aren't.

Okay kid, today’s the day,” Clint said cheerfully, and Peter perked up.

“Finally!” he shifted on the couch, shuffling his immobilized leg closer to Clint.  It hadn’t been that long since Peter arrived in Iowa, but his advanced healing had sped up his recovery by magnitudes, and it was finally time to take his cast off.  He should have been grateful, considering it would have taken months or even up to a year to heal had he been a normal person, but even just over a week of being essentially helpless was wearing his patience thin.  He’d always been fidgety (to the point that May once even got him tested for ADHD when he was younger), and not being able to move was killing him.

Really, it seemed kind of pointless for Tony to drop him off here before he’d healed fully, but thinking back, Peter wondered if he had done it on purpose.  If he couldn’t walk properly, he couldn’t run away or do something else stupid –but honestly, did the man have that little faith in him? 

Clint kneeled next to the couch and worked at the latches of Peter’s cast.  Made of fiberglass and aluminum instead of plaster, it was Tony’s own design, and it featured a closure system that was completely inaccessible to the person wearing it.  Peter suspected that Tony didn’t trust him to keep it on otherwise (and _that_ particular mistrust was probably well-founded).  In less than a minute, the cast was open, and Peter was pulling his leg out gratefully.  It felt weird, and stiff, and kind of hurt when he went to bend it, but as long as he was out of that cast, Peter didn’t care one bit.

“The doctors gave you a list of exercises to do now you’re out of the cast, right?” Clint asked.

“Oh…uh, yeah,” Peter said distractedly as he moved his leg some more, “Yeah, but, uh, I’ll be fine, I don’t think I really need to…”

Clint’s expression immediately transformed into what Peter had quickly picked up on as being his ‘Dad Face’, “You do.  Believe me, I know how much rehab sucks—I’ve broken, sprained, or bruised just about every part of my body by this point—but it’s important.  You might think that it’s stupid, or unnecessary, or that it’s not doing anything, but it actually helps a lot.  You want your body to go back to normal, right?”

Peter nodded.

“Then you have to listen to the doctors.  You’re doing the exercises,” he stood up and patted Peter’s shoulder as he started to make his way around the couch to the kitchen.  Before he left completely, though, he threw one last comment over his shoulder.

“And Stark emailed me the list too, so I’ll know if you don’t!”

Peter pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the bottom of his duffle bag and sighed.  Better get to it. 

…

 

“So yeah, this is my room,” Cooper said, arms waving in a wide gesture.  It was nice.  Twice the size of Peter’s bedroom back in New York, but it still featured a bunk bed tucked into the corner that made Peter smile.  The walls were painted a light green color, and along the back one was a large window that directly overlooked the awning jutting out of the front of the house.  Across the room from the bed was a desk and a bookshelf, and nearby was a small TV hooked up to an Xbox and fringed with two bean bag chairs.

“I normally sleep on the top bunk, I hope that’s okay.  I figured you wouldn’t want to climb a ladder with a bum leg anyway,” Cooper said.

“It’s not bum!” Peter argued as he tossed his bag down, deliberately forgetting how stiff the limb had been when he climbed up the stairs to get here, “But yeah, I’m more of a bottom bunk kind of guy anyway.”

“I don’t even know why you have to stay with me in the first place,” Cooper said, “I mean, you seem like a great guy and all, but we _do_ have a guest room.  More than one, actually!  I don’t see why Dad thought that bunking up with me would be the most comfortable option.”

“Maybe he thought I’d be lonely,” Peter joked, “But I don’t know, I’ve never shared a room before.  I don’t have any siblings, so this is kind of cool.”

“As long as you don’t snore.”

“Hey!  I resent that!” Peter grabbed the pillow off the bed and whacked Cooper with it, quickly getting a face full of feathers in return.  Both boys grinned as they devolved into a childish pillow fight, and by the time they were done, they were both red-faced and out of breath from laughter.  _So this is what having a brother is like_ , Peter thought.

“Hey, Cooper?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I should mention…I’m Spider-Man.”

“I know.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open, “Wait, _what_?”

“Yeah,” Cooper explained, “I mean, even us country hicks have Youtube.  Dude, you sound just like him.  Also…Lila mentioned that Tony Stark dropped you off.  And he wouldn’t be hanging around a teenager for no reason.  So either you’re Stark’s secret kid…”

“No.  No way.” Peter said quickly.

“Then you’re Spider-Man.  It was kind of obvious if you think about it.”

Peter seriously started to reconsider the value of interrogation mode.  Well, maybe not something that extreme, but a little voice modulation might not be such a bad idea after all.  He’d have to remember to mention it to Mr. Stark next time they talked.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Peter asked.

Cooper shrugged, “Because it didn’t matter.  I mean, my dad’s Hawkeye, but he’s also just my dad, y’know?  And he mentioned you were here to have a break from the city and everything, so I just assumed that meant Spider-Man too.  If you wanted to tell me, you would.”

Huh.  Pretty insightful, coming from a thirteen-year-old boy. 

…

 

It had been a while since his last nightmare.

_Tons and tons of concrete and rebar pressing on every limb, crushing suffocating…_

It had been naïve of him to think they had stopped.

_Dust filling his lungs, ice cold water mixing with hot blood…_

He’d mastered the art of unconsciously stifling his cries at night, but still, what if someone heard?

_He was all alone, no one knew he was here, he shouldn’t have come, he was going to die…_

Peter lurched awake with a gasp, forcing down the scream that wanted to escape instead.  He forced his body to be still and focused his senses, listening for any hint that he’d woken up Cooper.  Thankfully, he was met with soft snoring in return, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.  He quietly got out of bed—he wouldn’t be sleeping again anytime soon. 

He padded out into the hallway, intending to get a glass of water when he noticed a light coming from beyond the bottom of the stairs.  It was well past three a.m.—everyone in the house should be asleep by now.  Curious, Peter made his way downstairs.

The light was coming from the kitchen.  As Peter passed through the doorway into the kitchen, he found Clint sitting at the table, back to him, nursing a mug of what appeared to be some kind of sweet-smelling tea.  Ever the spy, the man immediately turned around sharply as soon as Peter entered the room.

“Sorry to disturb you, I…”

“Hold on one second,” Clint said, turning back around to grab something from the table that he then proceeded to place in his ears.

“There we go.  Sorry about that, sometimes I just like to sit in the quiet with my thoughts.”

“Wait,” Peter said, mind racing.  “Are you…are you Deaf?”

“Yeah,” Clint responded.  “Can’t even see my hearing aids, right?  It’s amazing how far technology has come.”

“I never knew that about you.”

“I don’t try to hide it,” he explained, “but I guess I don’t really publicize it much either.  Side effect of spending decades keeping everything about myself a secret.  If you’re around long enough, though, you’ll catch me signing when I’m too lazy to put my hearing aids in.  The whole family knows ASL—even Nate.”

“That’s so cool,” Peter said, and yeah, he could remember Nate making small hand gestures Laura explained meant “hungry”, “thirsty”, and “more”.  He’d thought it was just a baby thing at the time.  Maybe he could ask Cooper to teach him a few words.

Clint had that regarding look in his eye again, but his smile was warm and genuine.  “I’m glad you think so.  But I don’t think that’s why you came down here at three in the morning.”

He pulled out the dining chair next to him and patted it.  Peter made his way fully into the room and sat down.

“Uh, no.  I couldn’t sleep.” He admitted.

“Nightmares?” Clint prodded.  Peter nodded slowly.  “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Peter answered.  He hadn’t told anyone.  Mr. Stark, May, Ned…no one knew exactly what he had gone through that night, and he didn’t think he wanted them to know.  In truth, he was afraid.  Afraid to upset them, or worry them, or disappoint them.  He’d made enough mistakes; they didn’t need to know about this one.  And as nice as Clint seemed to be, Peter barely knew him.  It didn’t feel right.

“Well, that’s okay.  If you ever do want to talk, though, I’m always here.  It can help.  So can chamomile tea,” he gestured to the mug in front of him, “I’m not actually a fan of the taste, but damn, is it relaxing.  Want some?” 

“Sure,” Peter said.  May had gone through a big tea phase a while back, filling a whole cabinet in their kitchen with leaves and bags of every variety.  He actually liked chamomile.

Clint stood and pulled another mug out of the cabinet, then filled it with the rest of the water in the electric kettle on the counter.  He dropped a tea bag and spoon into it, then returned to the table and placed it in front of Peter.

“There are people out there that would give anything to do what we do,” Clint began, settling back into his seat beside Peter.  “They think it’s glamorous to be a superhero.  But it’s not, most of the time.  It’s just hard.  And scary.”

“ _You_ get scared?” Peter asked.

“All the time,” Clint answered.  “You kidding?  Cap’s a superhuman, Stark’s got a multimillion-dollar suit with military-grade weapons, Thor’s a _god_ …and I’m just a guy.  A guy with really good aim.”

“But you’re amazing!  You’re _Hawkeye_!”

“Aw, shucks,” Clint joked.  “But I just mean to say that it’s okay to not be okay sometimes.  This whole gig can be a lot.”

Peter sat up straighter in his chair, his uncle’s last words ringing in his ears.  “But it’s our responsibility.  To protect people.”

Clint leaned back, but his eyes didn’t waver from Peter’s.  “I agree.  Just remember to protect yourself too.  You’re still young; you shouldn’t have to face all the same demons us old guys do.”

Peter went to take another sip of his tea, only to realize his mug was empty.  He set it back on the table.  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said softly, then yawned.

“Don’t worry about the mug.  I’ll take care of it,” Clint said, “You should go back to bed.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, standing up and pushing his chair back in.  “For the tea, and…everything.”

“Anytime, kid.  Just remember, you’ve got a lot of people in your corner.”

As Clint moved to clean up the dishes, Peter padded his way out of the kitchen and quietly returned to Cooper’s room.  It wasn’t until he was settled back into bed, drifting asleep, that he realized he never thought to ask Clint why he was awake at three in the morning too.


	6. Living, Learning, Reconnecting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely feedback, as always. Sorry for such a long wait--school has been intense. I hope everyone has a happy holiday!

Peter liked breakfast with the Bartons.  He and May didn’t eat breakfast together a lot—on the weekdays they were usually too busy rushing out for school and work, and while every once in a while May would make her famous (and unusually successful) wheatcakes for them to enjoy during the weekend, they both tended to be late sleepers and ended up turning it into brunch instead.  But Peter had to admit, there was something satisfying about waking up _literally_ to a rooster crowing, the golden sun just peeking out over the horizon outside and the smell of coffee wafting in from the kitchen. 

People seemed more honest in the morning, dressed in their pajamas with their hair still mussed from sleep, any sort of pretense they might put up during the day lost in the earliness of the hour.  And sure, sometimes Lila would be in a cranky mood from waking up too early, or Clint would spit his coffee out over the table after absentmindedly pouring salt into it instead of sugar, or Nate would throw pieces of toast at Peter’s head with a surprising amount of accuracy, but Peter relished in it.  It was during those little moments that Peter secretly indulged in feeling like part of the big family—a complete change in dynamic from what he normally experienced with his aunt.

That morning, as they ate their way through bowls of sugary cereal and plates of scrambled eggs, the tinny voice of the weatherman played from the radio sitting on the kitchen counter, relaying the expected temperatures for the day.

_“And there’s a heat advisory on until four p.m. tonight, with highs reaching ninety-nine degrees with a heat index of one-hundred-and-six…”_

“We can fry an egg on the porch!” Cooper said excitedly.

“No, no one is going outside this afternoon.  It’s too dangerous.” Laura chided.

“The forecast is ridiculous,” Clint added, “High nineties all week.  I’m sure you kids can find plenty to do inside the nice, air-conditioned house.”

* * *

 

“I’m _bored_ ,” Cooper said hours later, splayed out dramatically over the couch with a controller dangling from one hand.  They’d gone through almost every game he owned, but even Peter had to admit none of them seemed to be as engaging today as they had been before.

Peter shushed him, looking around the room cautiously.  “Don’t let your mom hear that, or she’ll put us to work.”  Laura had already threatened earlier that the kitchen floor could use a good scrubbing after they’d complained that there was nothing to do, and he had no doubt she would follow through if reminded.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Peter.

“So last night, I, uh…had some trouble sleeping.” He began.

“Okay…” Cooper said, only slightly interested at the change of topic.  It at least confirmed he hadn’t been disturbed by any of Peter’s nightmares, which was a little bit comforting.

“Well anyway, I went to get a glass of water and found your dad awake downstairs.  We talked for a little bit, and I found out he was Deaf.  And you all know sign-language.”

Cooper finally straightened up, dropping the controller onto the coffee table.  “Yeah.  I’ve been learning ASL since I was little—I’m still not as good as my parents though.  It’s annoying, whenever they want to talk without us listening, they’ll sign with all the words we don’t know.”

Peter smiled; he could easily imagine them doing just that.  “Do you think you could teach me anything?  I mean, you don’t have to, of course, I was just curious and I think it’s really cool—”

“Sure,” Cooper cut him off.  “I can give you your first lesson right now.  Do this.”

He held his first two fingers up, stuck his thumb in between them, then turned his hand upside down to point at the floor.  Peter, with a little bit of fumbling, copied him.

“Now this,” he curled all of his fingers and thumb at the knuckle and held his hand up, palm forward. 

“Yeah, now this,” he slipped his thumb in between his first two fingers and curled them entirely into his palm.  “Then repeat that second one again.”

Peter did.

“And then do this,” Cooper raised his first two fingers and twisted them together.  Peter once again copied him.

“Congratulations, you just signed your name.  _P-E-T-E-R_.”

Peter repeated the gestures once more, then stared at his hand in amazement for a moment.  “Dude.  That’s so cool!”

Cooper grinned.  “You want to learn the rest of the letters?”

 

 

Over an hour later, Laura found them still in the living room, hands flying through the air as they signed back and forth to each other silently.  They seemed to have some sort of game going—Cooper would point to an object in the living room, Peter would finger spell it to him, and then Cooper would show him the actual sign for the object.

“ _Having fun?”_ Laura signed as soon as she caught the boys’ eyes.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Cooper signed, while Peter looked a little bit lost.

“ _TV.  Couch.  P-E-T-E-R.”_ he tried.  Laura laughed.

“I asked if you boys were having fun,” she explained.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get it eventually.  But I’m impressed, Peter!  Learning a new language isn’t easy.”

“My Spanish grade would agree with you,” Peter said.  “But I dunno.  I mean, I haven’t learned any grammar yet or anything, but this makes more sense to me than Spanish.  I’ve always been more of a hands-on type of learner.  No pun intended.”

Laura chuckled.  “Well, I have a couple of books on it if you’re interested in getting a little more in-depth,” she offered.  “I double majored in college—ASL and education.  Some of the stuff from my one-hundred level classes are really accessible to new learners.”

“I’d love that!” Peter said, bouncing slightly in place on the couch, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all.  I’m happy to share them with you.”

* * *

 

Peter was helping Clint with the dishes after dinner later that night when his phone started buzzing out of control in his back pocket.  He hastily wiped his soapy hands on the front of his jeans before digging it out and looking at the screen.  A FaceTime request.

“Is Stark trying to make sure you’re still alive?” Clint asked with amusement as he dried off a plate with a dishtowel.

“No, it’s Ned….uh, my best friend,” he explained as he remembered in that exact moment that he had completely forgotten to call him about all of this.  He’d meant to, but he’d just gotten so absorbed into everything, and it was a little bit awkward because they hadn’t really talked in at least a month.  Ned had been away at computer camp for a while and…

No.  No excuses.  It was Peter’s fault. 

After the Vulture…things had changed.  It was a relief, on one hand, for people to know about his secret, but on the other hand it felt like they were even more vulnerable now.  That just by knowing he was Spider-Man, they were in more danger.  So he kept them in the dark about most of it.  None of them needed to know the details of what happened with the Vulture (he was protecting them by sparing them that knowledge, that’s what he’d tell himself, it wasn’t because the thought of speaking of that night sent phantom pains through his body, constricted his chest, and made him lightheaded).  No one needed to know about the times he’d slip in his bedroom window at midnight with bruises and bone fractures and mild concussions.  About how many guns and knives were pointed in his direction on a weekly basis.  He was keeping them safe by keeping the city safe.  The more bad guys he took out, the more he could protect the ones he loved.  The greater chance he would lose anyone else ever again.  Maybe he’d been pushing himself a bit too hard recently.  But if the results were good, did that really matter?

It was hard to avoid the topic with Ned when they saw each other every day at school.  Ned was his best friend, his “Man in the Chair” for better or for worse, and he wanted to know about every cool ass-kicking Peter took part in—so those were the stories Peter would tell him.  Romanticized versions of fights where Peter was always in control, where he always won and looked good doing it.  The lies came out easier than expected.

Once school ended though, Peter shifted his entire focus onto stopping crime.  _Keep them safe, keep them safe, keep them safe._   And if that meant he stopped seeing Ned so often, and he stopped having to make up so many stories, well, that left one part of his conscious a little bit lighter.

The other part felt guilty for ignoring his friend.  But he had to.  It was for him.  All of them.

He’d taken too long to answer.  The call canceled, and Peter was left staring at the black screen of his phone.

“Are you going to call him back?” Clint asked, leaning one hip against the counter casually as he watched Peter frown.

“No…I don’t know.  It’s been so long, I don’t even know what I’d say.  What I could say—I mean, I assume May told him I’ve gone _somewhere_ for summer break, but I don’t know what he actually knows—” Sure, he thought Ned would freak if he knew about all of this, but now that he was actually thinking about it, was Peter even allowed to say?  _He_ hadn’t even known Hawkeye had had a family or a farm or anything, and he was pretty sure that was for a reason…

Clint cut him off.  “You trust this kid?”

“With my life,” Peter said immediately.  And it was true.  He had.

“Then just tell him the truth.  Maybe not all the details, but you can say you’re with me.”

Peter frowned as he stared at his phone, thinking.  Clint picked up on the tension and flicked some soap suds at him playfully.  “You could tell him I’ve been training you karate kid style.”

“Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

“Why would he be mad at you?”

Peter ran his thumb unconsciously back and forth over his phone case.  “I’ve kinda been ignoring him.  I’ve just been so busy with Spider-Man stuff, and I haven’t really had time—”

Oops.  There were the excuses again.

Clint looked at him appraisingly.  “You’ve known this kid—Ned.  You’ve known him for a long time?”

“Yeah.  Since we were in kindergarten.”

“Been through thick and thin together?”

Peter nodded.  “Yeah.”  Ned had been there for him through everything—from the time he’d fallen from a tree and broken his arm in the third grade to Ben’s death and beyond.  And he’d been there for Ned when his sister had nearly died from double pneumonia, and when his apartment had gotten damaged in the Battle of New York and he’d slept over at Peter’s for nearly a week, and when he’d lost his first tooth.  Not to mention all of the good times they’d had together.

“Then I don’t think you have anything to worry about.  It doesn’t sound like he’d give up on you that easily.  And if he was truly mad at you, he wouldn’t be trying to call you, right?”

Why was Clint so good at that logic thing?

Peter’s phone lit up as he unlocked it, but he hesitated as his finger hovered over the button that would call Ned back.  He looked up, unsure, but Clint have him a reassuring nod.

A chime filled the air as the call tried to connect.

“ _Peter!”_

“Hey, Ned.”

“ _Dude, you would not believe what happened to me yesterday.  So my sister dragged me along shopping with her to the mall, right?  And we passed by the food court and you know that bogus Mexican place that actually has surprisingly good queso?  Guess who works there now?  It’s Flash!  He was out front giving out free samples and—get this—he was dressed as a giant burrito!”_

“Oh my god.  Did you get pictures?”

“ _Only about five-billion.  I’ll send them your way.  I could tell he wanted to beat me up or something, but his manager was right there so he couldn’t do a thing!  Man, I’m gonna have to watch out once school starts, but it was totally worth it!  So how have you been?_ ”

Peter was grinning.  He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had missed his friend.  “Dude, have I got something to tell you.”


	7. Just Dumb Teenager Things™

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all learn from our mistakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You don't understand. I LIVE for tropes. Hope you do too, because these are not the first and they will certainly not be the last.
> 
> Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all!

“No.  Absolutely not.”

“What?  Why?!” Cooper asked, outraged.

“This is the same Jake that was busted for tagging up the hardware store last year, right?  The same one that spends his time smoking cigarettes at the elementary school playground late at night because he thinks it’s ‘edgy’?  I don’t like that kid.  He and his friends get up to too much trouble in town.  I don’t want you hanging around him.”

“I won’t be hanging around him, it’s just at his house!” Cooper argued.  “There’ll be a ton of other people there.  And Peter will be with me the whole time, right, Peter?”

“Well…” Peter was starting to second guess this thing.  When Cooper had approached him earlier in the day with a text invitation to some kid’s bonfire, he had been up for it.  Apparently, that meant party in the Midwest, but Cooper promised that there _would_ actually be a bonfire and yes, they could bring marshmallows.  He hadn’t told him, however, that apparently this kid named Jake was a juvenile delinquent.

“I’m just trying to make sure he enjoys his time here!”

“You can enjoy your time at home,” Laura said.  “We can even go catch a movie tomorrow if you’d still like to go out this weekend.  But you’re not going to that party, and that’s final.”

“God!” Cooper complained, entirely too overdramatic, “You never let us have any fun!”

“That’s me,” Clint replied dryly, “Clint _No-Fun_ Barton”

That made Peter crack a smile, but when Cooper turned and stormed off upstairs, Peter dutifully followed him.

“Hey man, it’s fine.  There’ll be other parties.” He reassured as they both entered Cooper’s bedroom.

Cooper sat down heavily at the desk chair as Peter shut the door behind them.  “You don’t understand.  This isn’t just any party, it’s a _high school party._ ”

Peter snorted.  “Been there, done that.  Trust me, they’re overrated.”

“Maybe in New York.  But you have a ton of other cool places to hang out in the city.  But here, these parties are _it_.  I’m about to be a freshman, this is the first one I’ve been invited to, and everyone else is going to be there.  If I don’t go, I’ll be a loser for the next four years…”

“Being a loser isn’t so bad.”

“Dude, you’re Spider-Man.” Cooper argued.  “That’s a perfect alter-ego.  But I don’t have superpowers to make me cool.”

“Honestly, I don’t think missing this party is going to destroy your social life.” Peter insisted.

“You don’t get it!”  he exclaimed.  “Everything is so small here.  This may not seem important to you, but it _matters_!  When you see the same twenty kids in class every day, every year, you don’t get much chance to climb up the social ladder—but this is my chance!  If I can make a good impression at this party, my high school years could be great—”

“But they’re not gonna be horrible if you don’t go,” Peter interrupted.  “Look, I do get it.  I know how hard it can be to fit in, how hard it is to not…but your parents said no.  There’s nothing we can do, right?”

Cooper huffed out a breath, seemingly in defeat.  Little did Peter know, he would be proved wrong later that night.

* * *

 

It was just past eleven when Peter was woken up from the slumber he had just started drifting off into.

“Wha—what are you doing?” he asked as he looked up from his bunk.  Cooper’s form was crisply outlined in the white moonlight flooding in from the open window as he pulled on a pair of shoes.

“I’m going to that party.  You coming?”

Peter stared at him dumbly.  “But your parents said we couldn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re not going to tell them,” Cooper stood up and unlatched the window screen, with practiced movements.  “You in, or not?”

Peter’s goody-two-shoes instinct was starting to kick in, unease filling his gut.  “Seriously Cooper, I don’t think…”

“C’mon, Peter, live a little!  Weren’t you sent here so you could be more like a _normal teenager_ or something?”

“Yeah, I guess, but…”

“Look, if you don’t wanna come, fine,” Cooper hiked one foot up on the window ledge, bracing his hands on the frame, “Just don’t be a snitch, okay?”

He had climbed all the way out of the window and onto the awning just outside when Peter scrambled out of bed, finally reaching a decision.  “Wait!”

Cooper paused.  Looked back.

“I’ll come.”

To be honest, Peter still didn’t feel great about it.  Parties weren’t exactly his scene to begin with, and it felt even worse knowing that he was directly disobeying not only adults, but one of them also being an _Avenger_ (that hadn’t gone well for him in the past).  But Cooper was determined to go, so at the very least, Peter could look out for him, right?  Just tag along, get his ears blasted out by some too-loud music for a couple hours, and then make sure they both got back home safely.

Keep him safe.  That was something Peter knew how to do.

When Peter crawled out onto the awning, he took a look backward.  Laura and Clint’s bedroom faced the opposite side of the house, so there was no chance of being seen there, and the rest of the house appeared to be dark—everyone was asleep.  He watched as Cooper made his way to the edge of the awning and shimmied down the support column below it before jumping to the ground.  Peter followed him easily, feet impacting softly in the dirt below.

They went to the side of the house where multiple bikes were leaning against the porch.  Cooper pulled one upright and offered it to Peter.  In the dark, blue light of night, he couldn’t be sure who’s bike it was, but based on the size he was guessing either Clint or Laura’s. 

“ _Come on, it’s not that far_ ,” Cooper signed to him as he mounted his own bike.  The silent communication was perhaps a bit overdoing it, but the longer Peter watched Cooper, the more nervous he appeared.  Fidgety and hypersensitive.  Despite Peter’s unease with the whole situation, he wasn’t exactly a stranger with sneaking out at night—he wondered if Cooper had ever done anything this rebellious before.  But that just really showed how important this party was to him.

 _Not that far_ ended up translating to almost a thirty-minute bike ride.  Peter was positive that he wouldn’t have had the endurance to make it if he hadn’t been Spider-Man.  They were both very sweaty and pretty winded by the time they pulled up at Jake’s farm, but Cooper was triumphant.

“We’re here,” he announced to Peter, throwing his bike down in the grass beside the driveway.  Peter followed.  The heavy bass of upbeat music could be heard playing from the huge barn to the left of the property, and flashing, colored lights and dancing bodies could be seen through one of the ajar doors.  Just beyond it, halfway between the barn and the cornfield that made up the perimeter of the property, there was a large bonfire with many black silhouettes surrounding it.  Peter could hear their laughter and boisterous conversations. 

“Let’s go!” Cooper said, leading the way to the barn.  Large bales of hay were stacked up against the back wall, framing a kid with a modest DJ setup of a phone and a couple of speakers on a table just in front of it.  The large, open space in the middle of the barn acted as the dance floor, and a couple of tables along the side held snacks and drinks.

It occurred to Peter then that he still didn’t really like parties.  The loud music and flashing lights grated on his senses, and the sour smell of sweat and alcohol was harsh on his nose.  Plus, he knew no one here except for Cooper.  Desperate for something to do, and still feeling the effects from their long ride over, he announced,  “I’m thirsty.  Want to see if they have some water or something?”

“Sure,” Cooper answered, but he seemed distracted, looking around the room as he absentmindedly followed Peter.  When they were halfway to the drink table, Peter was halted in place as Cooper yanked on his arm.  “Hey, Jake’s over there.  I’m just gonna go say hi, okay?”

“But, water?”  Peter asked, torn between not leaving Cooper alone and his now ravaging thirst.

“Nah, I’m fine.  You go ahead though, I’ll just be across the room!”  He pointed at a guy with a blond buzzcut and a camouflage-patterned jacket who was chatting to another kid at the side of the dancefloor before taking off.  Peter let him go, at least for the moment.  He’d only be away for a minute—Cooper would be fine, right?

There was a smattering of cheap alcohol and a stack of red solo cups lined up on the drink table, but to Peter’s dismay, there didn’t seem to be any regular water.  There was a bowl of punch to one side, but Peter wasn’t going to fall for believing that was safe.  After a minute of searching, he found a half-empty gallon of Hawaiian Punch he assumed was the base for the punch and poured himself a cup—it would have to do.  His thirst took over, and he downed the whole thing in a matter of seconds, not even really tasting it before pouring out a second cup and gulping that down too.  Satisfied, he topped himself off one more time before turning around and making his way back across the room in Cooper’s direction.

Only to see the boy raise a shot glass in the air, toasting Jake before downing its contents in a single gulp.

“What are you doing?” he shouted over the loud music as he started to run forward.  

“Hey Peter, it’s cool,” Cooper brushed off before diverting the topic.  “This is Jake.  Jake, this is Peter, he’s my friend from New York.”

“Hey man,” Jake said, giving him a nod.  Peter ignored him and turned back to Cooper.

“You’re only thirteen!  You shouldn’t be drinking!”

“You are,” Cooper argued, pointing to Peter’s cup.

“I’m not, it’s just juice.”

“Heh,” Jake scoffed, “Like I’d ever allow for ‘just juice’ to be served at one of _my_ parties.”

That was when Peter started to feel it.

A fuzziness in his brain.  A slight blur to his vision, like everything he saw arrived to his eyes on a half-second delay.  He sniffed the punch in his cup, finally able to distinguish the slight sharpness of alcohol present there.  The bottle must have been spiked too.

“Relax, Pete.  Just let loose and enjoy the party,” Jake said before turning to Cooper and topping off his shot glass with a bottle of cheap vodka Peter hadn’t noticed he’d been holding before.  “You’re alright, kid,” he said, clapping Cooper on the back with his free hand before taking a swig from the bottle himself and walking away.  Cooper had barely touched the glass to his lips before Peter snatched it away.

“Hey!”

“No way.  You’re cut off,” Peter declared, and he shoved both the glass and his own cup into the arms of the first drunk teenager that stumbled past them…except about half the liquid accidentally ended up on the girl instead.  Okay, it was maybe starting to get a bit more difficult to control his movements. 

“Jeezus Peter, have some fun!”  Cooper waved his arms in exasperation and stumbled a bit on his feet.

“This isn’t fun, this is dumb!  I’m just…”  God, his head was starting to swim.  And why did his tongue feel so heavy in his mouth?  “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you…”

The music stopped suddenly.  Everyone’s eyes whipped over to where the DJ’s phone had been plugged into the speakers to see the one and only Clint Barton standing there, phone in one hand and aux cord in the other.

“Okay, kids, the party’s over,” he said, voice calm yet commanding.  There was a rough yank on Peter’s shoulders as Cooper suddenly hid behind him, effectively using him as a human shield.

“ _Shit_ , dad’s here.  Peter, we gotta go, we gotta hide!”

Even both drunk, they were able to grasp just how dire their situation had become.  Peter’s muddled brain and a sudden boost of panic had him looking quickly from left to right, Cooper’s words encouraging him to find someplace to flee.  But he could only take one step forward before Clint was standing right in front of them, a strong look of disapproval on his face.

“Hold it, boys.  Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh…uh…” Peter was always so good at talking, why couldn’t he think of anything to say now?  And Cooper cowering behind him was no help.

“Mhm.  Well, you two are going to sit in the truck and _stay there_ while I make sure the rest of these kids have a way to get home safely.  Got it?”

“Yessir,” they chorused together, not daring to disobey now.  They were halted in their beeline towards the truck when Cooper was grabbed roughly just at the doors of the barn.  His eyes went wide as he stared at his assailant.

“What the hell, man?” Jake asked, outraged.  He shoved Cooper backward, and that was all it took for Peter to immediately (and slightly wobblily) place himself in between the two boys.

“Leave’im alone,” Peter commanded. 

“That little shit ruined my party!” Jake shouted, trying to push past Peter.  His expression was furious, muscles tensed for a fight, but Peter shoved him backward instead, perhaps with a bit too much force.  He slammed hard into the rough plank wall of the barn with an audible _thud_ , wind rushing from his lungs as he gasped for air for a few seconds.

“I said, _leave’im alone_.”

Jake’s face was red.  Whether from embarrassment or anger, Peter couldn’t tell.  “This isn’t over.  You just wait—school is gonna be hell for you, I promise!”

“Bold words for someone wearin’ camo in the middle of a cornfield,” Peter retaliated.  He took that moment to usher Cooper back outside, and only once they were safely in Clint’s truck did Cooper let his head fall into his hands.

“This was so stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re in so much trouble.”

“Yeah.”

“You were right.”

“…yeah.”

Cooper looked up, remorse written all over his face.  “M’sorry Peter.”

“’S’okay.  I get it.  Wanting to fit in, have people like you…but you have to think about who those people are, and why they like you, y’know?  ”

Cooper nodded solemnly, and they fell into silence.  They sat in the truck for over an hour, watching as one by one, dozens of disgruntled parents and guardians arrived to take their drunk teenagers home.  It was only at the end, once everyone else had left, that the police arrived along with a middle aged couple who appeared to be Jake’s longsuffering parents.  Clint marched Jake out to them, and after exchanging a few brief words, he made his way to the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat.  Peter and Cooper were silent as he turned the key in the ignition and started up the engine.

Clint let the quiet linger as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.  It was only after a couple of minutes that he chose to break it.

“So boys,” Clint said, “What was our problem here?”

“I—”

“I wanted to go to the bonfire,” Peter cut Cooper off, “I made ‘im take me.”

He hadn’t even thought about the words before he said them, they just came out impulsively.  Cooper had meant well, he’d just done a dumb teenager thing **™** And he looked so pitiful, hunched over in the backseat next to Peter—if he could take the fall for some of this, it felt like the right thing to do.  _Keep him safe_.

But suddenly, there it was again.  That long, appraising look from Clint, directed at Peter through the rearview mirror.  “Okay,” he said after a moment.  “And how could that have gone better?”

“We shouldn’t’ve gone.  It was a mistake.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Cooper mustered.

Clint made a noise of approval at their responses and settled back into the driver’s seat, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Is that it?” Cooper asked hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry, those hangovers you’re gonna feel tomorrow will be worse than anything I could say to you,” Clint said.  “And besides.  I’m sure Mom has a lot of choice words picked out for when you get home.”

Peter and Cooper’s faces both went white as ghosts.  Laura Barton was a force to be reckoned with, and there was no doubt that she was _not_ going to be happy.

“Well, I suppose this is a good lesson, huh boys?” he asked lightly.  Not expecting an answer, he flipped on the car radio to a country music station, entirely unconcerned as he drove them to their execution.

And they hadn't even gotten any marshmallows.


	8. Facing Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on. Toilets get scrubbed.

The tongue-lashing they received from Laura as soon as they had gotten home that night had been devastating.  She lectured them on sneaking out, drinking, and peer pressure, and by the end of it, both boys felt so ashamed of what they had done they were prepared to never touch another drop of alcohol again in their lives.  God forbid she ever decided to trade notes with May—Peter’s conscience probably wouldn’t survive the event.

But by the end of her lecture, Laura pulled them both into a bear hug and grumbled, “Don’t you ever do that again.”  Also, they were now grounded.  Until further notice, because _“It’s too late and I’m too disappointed to think straight right now.”_   They were sent off to bed after that.

Peter’s headache the next morning was killer, and if Cooper’s near-minute-long groan upon waking was anything to go by, he was suffering too.  When they finally made it downstairs, a glass of water and a dose of aspirin sat in place of where their breakfast usually was.

“Daddy, are Coop and Peter sick?” Lila asked innocently from her place as the boys gulped down their medication.

“Yes, sweetheart.  They’re suffering from a case of bad decisions.”

“What does that mean?”

Instead of answering, Clint ruffled her hair and snatched a sausage off her plate, sufficiently distracting her from asking further questions.

“We have a whole list of chores that need to be done today, so thank you, boys, for volunteering last night,” Laura added lightly as she served Peter and Cooper their actual breakfast.  The boys wisely didn’t comment.  It was as much as they deserved.

Peter started feeling better after filling himself up with food, water, and aspirin.  By the time breakfast was over, he was feeling pretty much back to normal, and Cooper seemed to be almost there.  Laura handed them each a copy of a list of chores that they were expected to do that day, and dishes were at the top of the order.  They trudged toward the sink as the rest of the family brought their dirty plates over when Clint interrupted.

“Cooper can get started on that.  Peter, you’re gonna come with me.”

Peter paused in pulling on a pair of rubber dish gloves.  “Uh, okay,”  He quickly abandoned his task and joined Clint as he started heading towards the front door.  “Where are we going?”

“Into town.  I’ve got some errands I need to run and I could use a hand.”

It had only just turned eleven, not quite yet noon, but already the air was thick with heat and humidity.  Peter was grateful that Clint’s truck had air conditioning, turning it up to full blast as soon as they climbed inside and Clint had turned the keys in the ignition.

The view out the window was blurred with greens and golds as they drove down the dirt road surrounded by cornfields.  The sky was blue and cloudless, and the same country station Clint always seemed to listen to played softly through the radio.  Peter decided he liked riding in the truck with Clint much better now than he had last night.

“So you really wanted to go to that party, huh?”

Okay, maybe that judgment was a little hasty.

“Yeah.  Uh, we don’t do stuff like that in the city.  I thought it sounded cool."

“Funny.  You didn’t seem super excited about it earlier in the evening.” Clint said casually, turning onto a more populated road where houses and the occasional business started to break up the scenery.  He was clearly just toying with Peter now, but Peter felt compelled to keep up the ruse.

“I’m an introvert.  I express my emotions internally,” he said quickly, feeling stupid the instant the words left his mouth.

“That’s not what introvert means.”

“Yeah…” Peter sighed.

“Look, Peter,” Clint pulled into the parking lot of a big farm supply store, pulling directly up into an empty space near the front.  He put the car in park but didn’t yet turn off the ignition as he turned to make eye contact with Peter.  “I know my kid.  I know you didn’t want to go, but he dragged you to that party anyway—”

“It wasn’t entirely like that,” Peter amended.  “He didn’t drag me, I chose to go.  He was so determined, I thought that at least if I went with, I could keep an eye on him…”

“You could have just woken me or Laura up, let us deal with it.”

Peter’s focus was on his hands twisting in his lap nervously.  “I probably should’ve.  But I guess, at the time, all I could think about was protecting him.”

“Which is why you tried to take the fall for him afterward?”

Peter shrugged dismissively.

“I appreciate it,” Clint said, “What you were trying to do.  That says a lot about your character.  But he needs to face the consequences of his actions too.  Those are his mistakes to make, and he needs to learn from them, understand?”

“I understand,” Peter responded honestly.  Clint reached over and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good man.  Now let’s go, Laura wants us to get some hay bales for her garden, and I’m gonna need your help loading them into the truck.”

The wave of heat that hit them as soon as they stepped out of the truck was almost staggering.  But as Peter walked around the vehicle and fell into step with Clint, he managed to bring up one more point.

“I’m sorry I got drunk too, by the way.  I didn’t mean to,” his voice was a little bit meeker than he would have preferred, but Clint just looked down at him with a slight smile at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I don’t really like alcohol.  But they spiked the punch, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, kid.  It happens to the best of us.”

They walked through the automatic door of the store only to be greeted with a refreshing blast of artificially cold air.  Peter had never been in a store like this before.  It kind of reminded him of a normal department store, but from like an alternate universe where everything was slightly different.  There was a clothing section to his left that appeared to exclusively contain items either made of denim or covered in camo, while the aisles that extended in front of him boasted that they contained power tools, animal feed, as-seen-on-tv products, and children’s toys.  The checkout lanes contained more varieties of beef jerky and sunflower seeds than Peter had ever seen in his entire life. 

Clint led them to the register, where he asked the single cashier on duty to ring up several hay bales for him.  The cashier then called up another employee on a phone and informed them that an associate would be out to assist them in a minute.  They then went back outside and walked along the front of the building where, just past the row of riding lawn mowers and brightly-colored kayaks, there was a giant block of hay bales stacked one on top of the other.

“Okay, I ordered eight of these.  If you wouldn’t mind starting to grab them, I’ll go pull the truck up,” Clint said, and Peter nodded in agreement.  It was obvious that there weren’t enough bales on the ground for them to load up, so Peter started climbing up the stack to reach the ones at the top when all of a sudden a skinny, pimple-faced employee came running out.

“Hey, get down from there!  You can’t do that!” he said, voice breaking mid-sentence.

“We paid for these.  He has the receipt,” Peter said, pointing at Clint who had just pulled up beside them.

“No, I know, but you can’t be up there--liability reasons,” the employee explained, and Peter reluctantly hopped down.  The employee—Peter could now see his nametag read “Dylan”—took Peter’s place, and immediately started struggling to lift up the first bale.

“You need a hand?” Clint asked as he stepped out of the truck.

“No, I got it!” Dylan said defensively through a few asthmatic breaths.  He managed to get the first couple of bales down to the ground, and Peter lifted one in each hand easily.  He threw them into the back of the truck, and they were accompanied immediately after by two more bales tossed in by Clint.  It wasn’t long after that they had their entire purchase loaded up, but Dylan looked on the verge of death, skin flushed red and clothes drenched with sweat.

“Thanks for the help,” Clint told him.  “You should probably take an early break.  Drink some water.”

The employee simply nodded, wheezing, before heading back inside. 

“And thank you for your help, Peter,” Clint added as they both got back into the truck.  He started the engine and they headed for the exit of the parking lot.

“Are we doing anything else?”

“Just need to stop for fuel on the way back.  But this was our main errand,” Clint answered as they pulled back onto the main road.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while.  Peter stared out the window, once again remarking how incredibly flat everything was when compared to New York.  Most buildings, when they appeared to break up the landscape, weren’t more than two stories tall.  He couldn’t imagine being Spider-Man in a place like this.  But then again, a place like this didn’t experience the same type of crime that New York did, anyway.

“Have you ever had to intervene in any crimes here?” Peter asked.

“Hmm?” Clint said, keeping his eyes on the road.  “Nah.  The police force here is more than capable.  I think the worst crime we ever had here was an armed robbery at the Dunkin’ Donuts two years ago.  No one was hurt, and the guy was caught trying to escape on foot with a bag full of donuts in his arms.”

Peter laughed at the mental image that conjured.  “So how do you keep up with your training?”

“I work out just about every day,” Clint supplied.  “I’ve got some weight machines in the basement, and I go for runs and practice with my bow outside.  Usually really early in the morning, before the rest of you are up.  Beat the heat that way.”

“Do you think…could you teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow?  I’ve always wanted to do that since I first saw Robin Hood when I was six, and honestly, my aim with my webshooters is kind of awful.  I mostly just point and hope for the best.”

“I think we could work something out,” Clint said, stealing a glance over to Peter.  “Once your grounding is over.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Peter nodded in agreement.

They pulled back onto the Barton farm and Clint parked the truck right next to the barn so they could load the hay inside.  They headed into the house after that, and Clint gave Peter his next instructions.

“Take a couple of minutes to cool down and then join Cooper with the rest of the list.”

By the time Peter found Cooper, he was lugging a caddy of cleaning supplies into the main upstairs bathroom.  He looked visibly relieved by Peter’s presence.

“Oh thank god.  You take the toilet.  I’ll do the tub,” he thrust a pair of gloves and a toilet brush to Peter, who accepted them without complaint.

 _Once this is over, you get to train with Hawkeye_ , he tried to remind himself.  He could get through the next two weeks with that incentive in mind, no matter how many toilets he had to scrub.


	9. Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's self-sacrificing nature strikes again. But this time, the rewards and consequences are much more dire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAKE SURE YOU'RE READING THE RIGHT CHAPTER! I posted two chapters on the same day, make sure you've read the previous one before reading this one.
> 
> This was actually the very first scene I ever envisioned for this fic (and it's heavily indulgent, as always). It led me to fill in the gaps of how Peter came to be on the Barton farm, and here we are.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

It started with Super Smash Bros.

Peter and Cooper had been grounded from all electronics, which, being Gen Z kids through and through, was devastating to them.  Sure, they could entertain themselves with books or puzzles or baseballs for a while, but they might as well be cavemen without their technology. 

So of course, the moment they had an opportunity to circumvent their punishment, they took it.  One little game couldn’t hurt, right?

“Okay boys, we’re going to Nate’s doctor appointment, so you’re in charge of watching over Lila,” Clint one day about halfway through their punishment,  hoisting the baby into his arms as Laura checked her purse for the car keys.  The two teens had been working on a thousand piece puzzle on the floor of the living room for the better part of the afternoon.  It was of a beach, and they were really struggling to differentiate the blue of the water from the blue of the sky.

“We should only be gone for about an hour, but we’ll call if we’re held up for any longer than that.  And remember: you’re still grounded.  That means no TV, no video games, no phones except for emergencies.  Got it?” Laura reaffirmed, a stern look in her eye.

“Yes ma’am,” the boys responded, nearly in unison.

“Okay.  Be good.  Look after your sister,” Laura said, coming over to place a kiss on top of Cooper’s head.  His face wrinkled up in teenage disgust, and Peter smirked before having his own hair ruffled by Clint.

The boys watched carefully as they left the house, listening for the slam of the car doors and the telltale sign of the engine speeding away.  Cooper looked at Peter.

“Are they gone?”

“Hold on,” Peter tilted his head, his enhanced senses able to pick up the sound of the car for much longer than Cooper.  “Okay…now.”

They launched into action, Cooper turning on the television while Peter reached for the Wii remotes.  Before long they had Super Smash Bros. loaded up and ready to go.

“Just keep the volume down so I can hear if they come back,” Peter suggested.  Normally, he wouldn’t be so keen on breaking the rules (especially so soon after they’d gotten in trouble for doing just that) but he was so _bored._   The isolation of the farm meant he couldn’t even walk anywhere within five miles that didn’t feel like he was about to be the star of _Children of the Corn._   He was starting to go a little crazy.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be playing that!”

Peter and Cooper whipped around to see Lila standing behind the couch, arms crossed and a doll dressed like a cowgirl hanging out of one hand.

“We’re in charge, we can do whatever we want,” Cooper defended.

“I’ll tell!” she threatened.

“No you won’t.  ‘Cause then I’ll tell mom and dad you were the one who ate the last piece of cake before dinner last week.”

It wasn’t quite an equal bargaining chip, but Lila didn’t seem to realize that.  Instead, she narrowed her eyes, stalemate acknowledged.  “Fine.  I’m going to play outside.”

“Just stay in the back yard,” Cooper told her automatically, already turning back to the game.

“Yeah, yeah…” she mumbled, hugging her doll to her chest as she left.

The boys were quickly engrossed in their game, trying to enjoy it as much as possible before the Bartons returned.  They were pretty evenly matched, each winning every other round, and they thrilled in the competition.

At least half an hour had passed before Peter’s nose wrinkled in irritation.  He sniffed the air, then diverted his gaze to the open window.

“Do you smell that?”

“Huh?” Cooper said, taking advantage of Peter’s distraction to annihilate his character.

“No, seriously, pause the game.”

It was getting stronger now, even Cooper could smell it.

“Is that smoke?”

Both boys set down their controllers and made their way to the window.  They looked outside and their eyes widened in shock.

It was coming from the barn.   Thick, dark clouds of smoke emanating from its singular open door, the inside flickering with orange light.  It was on fire.  And Lila was nowhere to be seen in the yard.

“Lila!  Where’s…?” Cooper said.  Without an answer, the boys bolted through the kitchen and were out the back door in seconds, racing to the flaming barn.  They stopped within feet of the doors, the wave of heat staggering.  But there, just at the threshold, was a singular tiny cowboy boot, just the perfect size for a doll.

“I’ll go get her!” Peter said without thinking, preparing to charge into the barn.

“I’m coming too!” Cooper choked out, sheer panic edging his voice.

“No, go back into the house and call 911, then your parents!” Peter commanded.  Cooper hesitated.

“I’m mutant, the flames won’t hurt me,” he lied. “Now go!”

With one last devastating look at the barn, Cooper turned and fled back toward the house.  Peter neared closer to the slightly ajar barn doors, pouring smoke and radiating heat. 

For a brief moment, his suit flashed through his mind.  His nice, fireproof suit, locked away in the basement.  He probably had absorbed enough skill from watching Ned over the years to hack through the electronic keypad keeping him out.  This whole thing would be so much easier.  But there wasn’t time.

With a deep breath, he ran in.

Immediately, smoke filled his lungs, thick, heavy, and choking.  He yanked the collar of his t-shirt up over his mouth as he coughed, but it didn’t do much.  The bales of hay Peter and Clint had stacked nearby were completely engulfed, and flames were quickly rising up the worn plank walls.  Immediately inside, though, Lila was nowhere in sight.

“Lila!” he called, coughing as his whole chest burned with the effort. 

There was no answer.

He pushed further in, spidey-sense screaming in his head as he leapt around burning planks and literally immersed himself in danger.  The barn wasn’t too big, and he covered ground fast, quickly ruling out every other corner Lila couldn’t be in as he pushed to the back, toward the stables.  Made up of only a couple of short, cement walls that blocked out the back corners of the barn, they hadn’t housed any animals for years and were now mostly used for storage.  But she had to be there.  There was nowhere else to look.

“L-Lila!” he choked out once more, panic rising in him as he started to feel lightheaded and dizzy.  He dodged around a flaming pile of what looked like crates, was almost to the stables when…

His spidey-sense roared.  Peter flung himself to the side just in time for a beam to fall from the ceiling, landing right in the spot where he just had been.  His ears rung with the sound of its collapse, his eyes burning as they were filled with smoke and golden light, and suddenly it wasn’t burning wood but rather _dripping concrete, and he was back in the warehouse, it was collapsing on him, he wouldn’t be able to escape this time_ …

His hands burned unbearably, bringing him back to the present as he whipped them back from the smoldering piece of wood they’d landed on and dragged himself back up.  In the orange glow of the flames, he could already see the blisters starting to form there. 

 _Pull yourself together_ , he berated himself, _Lila is all that matters._

He ducked under the newly fallen beam and finally made it to the stables.  The flames were barely licking up the walls here, the fire presumably having started on the other end of the barn.  The heat was still intense, though, the smoke suffocating.  As he turned into the first stall, his heart nearly stopped in his chest as he spotted a small form curled into a ball on the ground, unmoving.  He rushed toward Lila, coughing as he continued to call out to her, but she didn’t so much as stir.  Peter scooped her into his arms, instinctively wanting to check her pulse but knowing that getting to safety was his first priority.  He hunched over as he retreated back to the front doors, trying to protect her from flying embers as much as possible, wincing as he felt them land on him instead, the pain sharp and intense. 

Finally, the white light of day met his eyes, and he thrust the both of them out of the barn, stumbling several yards until he was sure they were a safe distance away.  Peter gently placed Lila down on the ground before collapsing onto his hands and knees.  The sharp gravel bit into the burns on his palms, and he couldn’t stop coughing, _god_ he couldn’t even breathe, he couldn’t…

“ _Lila!  Peter!_ ” shouted a distressed voice, and moments later a hand was on Peter’s back, an arm wrapping around his chest that lifted him from the ground and held him up. 

“You’re gonna be alright.  Just try to breathe, the ambulance is almost here,” Clint said, voice reassuring in a way that Peter hadn’t realized he desperately needed.  He looked over to see Laura cradling Lila, tears streaming down her face. 

She noticed Peter and a weak, trembling smile appeared on her face.  “She’s alive,” she answered to his unspoken question, “You’re both alive, thank god.”

Multiple sirens rang out in the air, piercing through Peter’s skull and stabbing into his brain as firetrucks and ambulances rumbled over the dirt roads that led up to the farm.  Peter immediately clutched his hands to his ears, hissing in pain as his burns and blisters protested.  The sirens stopped after a moment, but then there were so many people, moving, talking, and a loud hiss of water hoses turning on followed.  It was becoming too much.  Peter tried to curl in on himself, but because Clint was still supporting him just ended up curling into Clint instead.  Suddenly more hands were touching him, foreign hands in smooth nitrile gloves that glided over his skin and filled his nose with their rubbery smell.  Peter tried to recoil, but Clint held him fast.

“No,” Peter protested.

“It’s okay, kid, they’re going to help you,” Clint tried to soothe as he helped lift Peter onto a gurney. 

“I can’t…no hospital…” Peter protested, a different kind of panic spiking in his gut.  He hadn’t been to any non-Stark-approved doctors since before he’d been bitten.  His extensive sci-fi and fantasy knowledge told him that bad things happened to people that had weird hybrid-blood in hospitals.  Experiment-y things.  Luckily, he hadn’t gotten majorly injured before meeting Tony, and afterward had been issued a Stark Industries insurance card that automatically sent him to doctors that Tony trusted (and therefore Peter trusted).  But this was different.  This was _Iowa._   He didn’t know anyone outside the Barton family here—if these doctors found anything strange, who knew what they’d do to him?

“Peter, look at me,” Clint said firmly, gripping Peter’s arm.  He did.  Somehow, Peter could tell that Clint knew exactly what he was thinking.  For a moment, the foreign hands paused in their ministrations.

“You’re gonna be okay.  I won’t leave your side, alright?”

“But, Lila…” a spike of pain shot through his chest as this new concern appeared in his brain, and he turned his head to glance over at Lila.  Her small body was being placed on a stretcher by paramedics, her mother holding her hand the whole time while Cooper hovered anxiously close by.  Clint should be over there too.  That was his daughter, he should be with her, he shouldn’t be worrying about Peter…

Gentle fingers pressed at Peter’s chin, guiding his focus back, away from Lila.  When he spoke again, his voice held all of the assurances only a father could promise.  “She’ll be alright, Laura’s got her.  And I’ve got you.  Okay?”

Peter nodded weakly, tears prickling at his burning eyes.  Then the medical personnel surrounded him once more as they resumed their work, and an oxygen mask came toward his face.  At first, Peter tried to move his head away, the plastic rim and cool rush of air too harsh on his senses, but the paramedics had dealt with difficult patients before and knew what they were doing.  As they succeeded in securing the mask to his face, the ache in Peter’s lungs started to subside. 

His shoulders relaxed into the gurney.  He breathed.  Just breathed.  As he was lifted into the ambulance, Clint took a place by his head, gently brushing sooty bangs off of Peter’s forehead.

He was almost calm.  But then the doors of the ambulance shut with a loud bang, and his ears were flooded with the sound of the engine starting and the siren blaring once again.  Too loud.  Too much.  Peter squeezed his eyes shut, breath escaping his lungs more rapidly as his senses overwhelmed him.  It was painful, and he couldn’t escape it…

Soft silence enveloped him.  Peter opened his eyes to see Clint adjusting the noise-canceling headphones just so on his head.  He distantly wondered where they had come from.

“ _You’ll be okay_ ,” Clint repeated to him once more, now in sign language.  “ _You did good, just relax now_.”

He started signing more reassurances, but Peter absently reached up and grabbed Clint’s hand as a sudden wave of exhaustion swept through his body.  Clint froze for a second, surprised.  Then he squeezed Peter’s hand and let their joined hands rest on the gurney beside Peter.

He was okay.  He was safe.  That was the feeling that stayed with him as he drifted off into unconsciousness.


	10. To Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is not always just physical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really feeling a little unsure about this chapter, but please let me know what you think! As always, thank you so much for reading, and be sure to check out the end note for something special I'm doing!

Peter’s senses came back to him one by one.

Touch was first.  A hard, plastic cannula draped over his face, forcing cool, fresh oxygen through his nose and into his lungs.  His right hand itched where an IV had been inserted into it, held in place with tape, and his body was surrounded by a thin cotton gown and scratchy linen sheets.

His mouth was dry, but the faintest taste of smoke still lingered on his tongue, and a burning sensation sat at the back of his throat.  Past the rush of oxygen, the sharp smell of disinfectant and some kind of mild, minty soap reached his nose.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a phone vibrating, and he realized someone must have been sitting next to him because he could sense that person suddenly stand up and retreat across the room, opening a door but not closing it entirely in their wake as they stepped outside.  The voices that followed were instantly familiar.

 _“You left him alone!”_ this one was frantic, angry and worried in a tone that was different from how Peter had known it before.

“Okay.  First of all, he’s fifteen, not an infant—” this one just sounded tired.

 _“He was your responsibility!  He was under your care, and look what happened!_ ”

“Nobody set that fire Stark, we couldn’t have known—”

_“This was a bad idea, I never should have sent him there.  God, this is all my fault, I should just—”_

“Tony,” Clint said firmly, interrupting the man’s tirade.  His voice was soft and incredibly understanding when he spoke his next words.  “He’s okay.”

From the other end, silence. 

“He’s safe.  He’s got a few burns and some smoke inhalation, but the doctor says he should be discharged by tomorrow morning, which you and I both know means in a few hours, tops.”

“I…” with that one word, Tony sounded incredibly lost.  Vulnerable, in a way that he’d never shown to Peter.

“He’s resting right now,” Clint continued, calm and steady in a way that was almost placating.  “He’s breathing just fine with the help of some oxygen, and the doctor says he isn’t in any pain.  When he wakes up, I’ll have him call you, okay?”

“Okay,” Tony replied at last, breath on the verge of stuttering.  He finally seemed to be gaining back his composure.  “Um.  How…how is Lila?”

“She’s going to be in the hospital for a little bit longer,” Clint said.  “She’s smaller than Peter, and she inhaled a lot more smoke than he did.  But she’s going to be okay.”

“Good.  That’s good,” An awkward silence.  Then, hesitantly, “Do you, uh, need any help with the medical bills, or anything?  I really don’t mind…”

“Thanks, but we’ve got it covered,” It was clear that was the closest Tony would ever come to an apology, and Clint was accepting it for what it was.

Peter’s eyes finally started opening as Clint wrapped up his phone call, and he took in the sight of the various machinery surrounding his bed, the pale blue-painted walls, and the harsh fluorescent light filtering in from the hallway through the cracked door.  Clint reentered the room at that moment, eyes widening slightly in surprise at the sight of Peter awake.

“Hey buddy,” he greeted.  “How are you feeling?  Do you need anything?”

“Water?” Peter croaked, and Clint grabbed a cup from a side table and came to sit once more in the chair beside Peter’s bed.  Peter took the cup in his hands and maneuvered the straw into his mouth.  The water was cool and soothing, and once Peter started to drink, he found he didn’t want to stop, gulping down the liquid as fast as the straw would allow.

“Woah, slow down,” Clint warned, pulling the cup back away from him. 

“Throat hurts.”

“I know, but if you drink too fast, you’ll make yourself sick,” with a nod of acknowledgment form Peter, Clint gave the cup back to him once again.  He took smaller, slower sips this time.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“There was a fire.”

“Yeah.  Turns out the hay we bought was too damp on the inside.  It got superheated from the high temperatures and spontaneously combusted.  Rare, but it happens.”

“Lila…”

“She’s okay,” Clint reassured.  “Her room is just down the hall from here, actually.  She’ll probably be in the hospital for a few days, but the doctors said she’d be just fine.”

“I know,” Peter admitted.  “I kind of overheard your phone call with Mr. Stark.”  He’d finished with the water.  Clint took the empty cup from him and set it aside before leaning back in his chair.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.  He’s really worried about you, y’know.”

“Probably just disappointed I ended up in the hospital again.”  It was an unfair statement, and Peter knew that as soon as the words left his mouth.  Just about everything Mr. Stark did for him, he did because he cared—he just had a funny way of expressing it.  Usually, it came across through yelling and heavy sarcasm, though Peter had to admit, Tony did sound kind of rattled this time on the phone.

“No.  He’s not disappointed.  He’s scared that his kid is in a hospital and he’s halfway across the country, helpless to do anything about it,” Clint took a breath.  “I’d feel the same way if I was in his place.  Look, Peter,” he reached out and placed a hand on Peter’s arm in a comforting gesture, “I’ll admit, I was scared too.  And I don’t like seeing you in the hospital any more than you like being here.  But you’re here because saved my daughter’s life; I can’t forget that, and I definitely won’t ever be able to truly repay you for it.”

Peter was slightly flustered.  Both by the fact that Clint had just referred to him as Tony’s kid, and also because of the fact that an Avenger just basically declared a life debt to him.  “Oh…I don’t need to be repaid or anything.  I just wanted Lila to be okay.”

Clint squeezed his arm, then sat back in his chair.  “If the future of the Avengers is kids like you…the world is gonna be in good hands.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that.  So he said this instead:

“I thought I was going to die.”

Silence.  Then, Clint took a deep breath.  He didn’t look surprised by the outburst.  Just wary.  “That’s…understandable.”

“No, I mean.  Um,” he stumbled over his words, not sure why he decided _now_ was the best time for this, but Clint made him feel safe and understood, and he somehow couldn’t stop now that he started.  “Back a few months ago, I was supposed to take this girl to homecoming.  Except it turned out that her dad was the Vulture, and he was going to hijack a plane full of Mr. Stark’s stuff.  So I went to stop him, at this warehouse, right?  Except, he caught me by surprise and, uh, the entire building collapsed on top of me.”

Peter worried the edge of the hospital blanket between his fingers, rubbing back and forth, over and over.  Clint had trained his eyes on Peter in what he would call a hawk-like gaze, except he didn’t quite feel the irony of it at that moment.

“It just all came crashing down, and it was so heavy, and it hurt so much.  I didn’t have my suit because…I-I just didn’t have it, and no one knew I was there under the rubble, and I thought I was going to die.  And when I was in the barn, a beam fell right next to me, and suddenly I was back there all over again.  I’d had nightmares about it before, but this was different—it felt so real, and I couldn’t control it.  It was terrifying.”

“Peter,” Clint said slowly, once he was sure Peter had finished.  “Can I give you a hug?”

Dumbly, Peter nodded, and Clint leaned forward and pulled Peter up and into his arms.  Embarrassingly, Peter found that tears had formed in the corners of his eyes, and he hastily pressed his face into the shoulder of Clint’s t-shirt to hide them.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Clint said, at last pulling away.  Peter scrubbed the back of the hand that didn’t have an IV in it over his face, forcing himself to be composed. “Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

“Not even Stark?”

“No, uh.  We weren’t exactly on the best terms when it first happened, and then…I don’t know.  I couldn’t tell him.  Couldn’t tell anyone.  I didn’t want to admit I’d screwed up so badly…again.”

“I don’t think you screwed up, but we’ll set that aside for now,” Clint said gently.  Then he seemed to suddenly switch topics.  “Y’know, I’ve been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Peter’s eyes went wide.  “Really?”

Clint nodded.  “Yeah.  My life hasn’t exactly been all sunshine and rainbows…especially when I was younger.  I’d get nightmares, flashbacks, the occasional panic attack.  It wasn’t debilitating, but I definitely lived with a certain level of fear.  Didn’t know what it was until I joined SHIELD and had my first mandatory psych eval.”

“And they were still okay with you becoming an agent?” 

Because here’s the thing.

Mental health is not a taboo subject.  Over the many years he’s known him, Ned had made huge strides in overcoming the anxiety that used to afflict him so badly as a kid.  MJ was incredibly open about her depression _and_ the medication she takes and the therapist she sees each week to treat it (“ _Alejandra is the best.  I go in, bitch about my life for an hour, and then she tells me to get my shit together.  She gets me._ ”).  Peter loved both of his friends for exactly who they were, and he supported them in living their best lives.  They had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

But Peter felt ashamed of himself.

It was hypocritical, to not hold himself to the same standards he held his friends.  He was smart, the logical part of his brain recognized that.  But that didn’t make those feelings go away.  He didn’t want to admit he’d screwed up again with the Vulture because he didn’t want anyone to be disappointed in him—but it also went deeper than that.  To Peter, it felt like weakness.  Unworthiness.  If people thought that he couldn’t handle a few nightmares and bad thoughts, how could they ever believe that he could be a hero?  That he was strong enough to be.  Mr. Stark, Clint, all of these people?  They wouldn’t even know who he was if he hadn’t been Spider-Man, never mind care about him.  If he couldn’t do his job, if he was broken ( _not broken, you would never say that about anyone else, why are you saying it about yourself?_ ) in this way, who would want him?  What did he have left? 

“Sure.  I got help for it, of course.  Had therapy, learned coping techniques.  SHIELD invested in me, and I actually became a better agent after everything was said and done,” he took a deep breath.  “And sometimes I struggle.  I’m still, in some ways, coming to terms with The Battle of New York.  My control was whipped away, and the things Loki did through me…certain things take time  to come to terms with.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Peter said softly.

“No, and I wouldn’t want you to, because that’s my trauma,” Clint explained sincerely. “I’m not about to try and diagnose you with anything, because that’s not my place, but it seems like you’ve got your own trauma, too.”

Trauma.  A six letter word that felt so much bigger.  He’d never really thought about it so concretely before.  But then again, when it came to the Vulture, Peter was usually doing everything in his power to _not_ think about it.  “I mean, I don’t really know anything about that, but yeah, that might be…accurate.”

“I just want you to know, it happens to the best of us, and that’s okay.  Having trauma _isn’t_ weak, but learning to deal with it in a healthy way?  That’s strong.  Keep that in mind, okay?”

“I—yeah, okay.”

“And whatever you need, even if you ever just want to talk, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Clint.”

* * *

 

The doctor came in shortly afterward to check on Peter, and he seemed very pleased about his progress.  Apparently, Clint was close friends with the man—they’d known each other for years, and Clint had entrusted him with his life more than once.  Understanding Peter’s anxiety about being examined by unknown doctors, Clint had made sure he was assigned as Peter’s primary physician once he’d been admitted to the hospital.  Peter appreciated it more than he could say.

Afterward, Clint left to go spend some time with Lila, but not before he highly suggested that Peter call Tony.

Peter deliberately made the decision to call him the old fashioned way.  It _might_ have reassured the man more if Peter video called him and showed him he was alright, but it _might_ have just made things worse because Peter being in the hospital generally seemed to trigger Tony no matter how minor his injury might be.  So he was erring on the side of caution.

The phone barely had a chance to ring before it was answered.

“ _Kid.”_

“Hi, Mr. Stark.”

A relieved exhale, as if Tony had been holding his breath for ages and only released it upon hearing Peter’s voice. “ _How are you feeling?_ ”

“Good,” Peter replied automatically.  “Great.  I’m pretty much back to normal, they’ll probably release me in a couple hours.”

 _“That’s good,”_ Tony said lightly.  “ _Look.  If you want to come home, you can.  I could have you on a plane by tomorrow.  I know this whole thing was my idea in the first place, but—”_

“I—that’s okay, Mr. Stark.  I think I want to stay here.”

“ _You do?”_ he sounded genuinely surprised.

“Yeah.  I like it here.  It’s so different from New York.  The Bartons are great, and I’ve been learning sign language, and Clint has promised to teach me how to shoot a bow and arrow, I…I can’t leave now.”

“ _I don’t know, you and flying, sharp instruments sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”_

That got a smile out of Peter, though he tried to sound indignant. “Hey!”

_“Nah, Clint’s good with all that Robin Hood stuff.  You’ll be alright.”_

“I always am.”

“ _That’s debatable,_ ” Tony laughed.

“To be fair, this time wasn’t my fault!” Peter protested.

Tony’s laugh died down as his voice sobered.  “ _I know.  I’m proud of you, kid._ ”

Warmth flooded through Peter’s veins.

“ _But don’t you ever scare me like that again!  I swear to god, you’re going to give me a heart attack someday.  You know I have a weak constitution…”_

“You sound like a character from a Victorian romance novel.  Maybe you’re the one who needs to take a trip to the countryside for your health.”

“ _With all of that pollen and flat land and,”_ his breath stuttered a big, as if he were shivering, “ _conservatives?_   _No thanks._ ”

“It’s not so bad out here,” Peter responded.  “Y’know, I guess I kind of want to say thanks.  I’ve been having a good time, and Clint has been really cool.”

“ _But I’m still your favorite, right?_ ”

The devious part of Peter decided to wrap things up at that point.  “I think I need to get some rest now, bye, Mr. Stark.”

“ _Right?  Peter—”_

“I’ll talk to you later!” and with that,  he hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> So I've just hit a few milestones. This fic just broke 500 kudos, which is AMAZING!!! Thank you so much. I'm nearly at 10,000 kudos across all of my works here, the majority of which can be attributed to my MCU fics, and I've gotten thousands of hits, hundreds of comment chains...I never expected to get such support for my writing, and I wanted to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> That being said, I wanted to do something a little bit different, so for the first time ever I'm accepting prompts!
> 
> If you have any prompt ideas for one-shots, you can send them my way either here or at my tumblr. I'm accepting prompts for any fandom I've written about before, plus a couple of extras you can find in a more detailed post I'll link to at the end of this note. My only hard rule is no smut/underage/incest, but I'm open to almost anything else. I can't guarantee every prompt will be written, but I'll do my best!
> 
> Thank you once again, and I'm excited to see what comes of this!
> 
> https://theagentnerd.tumblr.com/post/183528602459/im-accepting-prompts


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